There are only forty-two words in the book, Soft Little Kitty by B.J. Johnson and I know every one of them by heart. This little kitty has a toy. This soft little kitty says mew mew. And on and on right up until both little kitties take a cuddly nap. Our record for repeat readings in one sitting is thirteen, and we only stopped there because it was past bedtime - Olivia would have happily endured another half-dozen or more visits with her favorite kitty friends. She can't get enough of Soft Little Kitty, which is why we tucked it into the diaper bag and brought it with us to a restaurant the other night. After a nice dinner of pizza (us) and pureed chicken and apples (Olivia), we cruised home, the top down on the Mustang, the warm breeze ruffling Olivia's hair. Buckled into her safety seat, she chattered and beamed and looked wide-eyed at the canopy of trees overhead. A few miles from home, on a busy stretch of four-lane road, she snatched up her kitty book and held it aloft. The wind grabbed it, and to our surprise and dismay, Soft Little Kitty flew backward into the deepening night. I twisted around in my seat and watched as the little book tumbled to the edge of a grassy median, then disappeared beneath a roaring Ford Expedition. Olivia looked utterly astonished. "Honey," laughed her daddy, "don't you know that kitties can't fly?"

This prompted the following reasonable discussion:

Me: "Turn right around and get her book."

Him: "Are you nuts? Look at the traffic! I'll go get her another one at the bookstore!"

Me: "It won't be the same. What if you can't find one? What will we do without the soft little kitties? It's her favorite. Go back!"

Him: "It's been run over! Are you crazy? It's just a book!"

Me: "We can't just leave the soft little kitties in the road! Are we those kind of parents? The kind with no feelings?"

Him: "We are not turning around. We are going home."

Me: "We're abandoning the kitties."

Him: "Aaaarrrgghh."

Mark took us home, then headed into the night to search for the lost kitty book. As Olivia and I sat on the floor of the shower, playing with the soap and her little boat, it suddenly dawned on me that I had just sent my husband out to face an almost certain death at the hands - or wheels - of some crazed, speeding, suburban madman. Was I out of my mind? Making the man risk his life for a 42-word book about cats? Rinsing shampoo from the baby's hair, I pictured him dodging and sprinting as cars and trucks careened around him. The glare of headlights! The squeal of brakes! I could see the headline: "Father of Two Killed On Road - Found Clutching Book About Kitties". How would I ever explain this tragedy to Mark's parents? The minutes dragged by. He'd been gone a long time - should I wait for the police to come to the door, or should I just get in the car and drive to the scene? As I was anxiously cramming Olivia into her pajamas, Mark burst through the door. "I've got it!" he said, brandishing the book. "It's been run over, but I've got it!"

There was much applause and cheering as we celebrated the triumphant homecoming of the soft little kitties. Mark described his adventure, how he walked along the dark highway, relying on the headlights of approaching cars to provide enough light for his search. The book was right where we'd last seen it, lost and forlorn on the edge of the median. Olivia and I were very pleased to have it back, tire marks and all. We wiped it clean and had a look through it, just to make sure that the kitties were still playing all day, still licking their furry paws, and saying mew mew. And they were, right where we'd left them, with their ball of purple yarn and bowl of warm milk. The kitties were just the same, despite their wild roadside adventure and our brief but grief-stricken parting. Books are wonderfully reliable that way.

Mark later informed me that Soft Little Kitty was listed on amazon.com, used, for ninety-nine cents. But that's just a book. Our kitties had the true magic that comes from being beloved, a magic that can't be bought at any price. Anyone can purchase a copy of Soft Little Kitties. But it takes someone very special to rescue them from a grim and certain doom, even if that rescue seems silly. It takes a daddy.